Sure-Spock Holmes and Dr Leonard Watson
by Danzinora Switch
Summary: A simple scientific mission takes a darker turn when there's a murder at the hotel. Suddenly Spock and McCoy are caught in a web of murder, love, and greed all wrapped up in a lonely hotel isolated during a storm. Other genres include Suspense/Drama.
1. A Case of Identity

**A/N: Despite the title, this is not a comedy. It is a serious story based on old-fashioned crime dramas (I think. Film noir?). This is also not a crossover with Sherlock BBC (which I understand is a show starring Benedict Cumberbatch, aka new Khan). Yes, it is detective-Sherlock themed. If you'll note, all Sherlock Holmes stories are told from the 1st-person point of view of Dr. Watson. Well, we have our own doctor here. I don't own Star Trek or Sherlock Holmes. READ!**

* * *

I listened to the rain as it pattered outside the window. It'd been raining steadily now, since about midnight I'd wager. I didn't mind. It reminded me of home. Many a night in Georgia I would fall asleep to the sounds of a rainstorm.

This wasn't Georgia, of course. It was a small little planet about 1000 light years away from that state. We'd arrived on Demetria for scientific reasons… but it was such a nice planet that the captain also allowed shore leave. A bunch of crewmembers flocked to the transporter room immediately after the announcement.

I wasn't here on shore leave, though. Yes, I was curled up on a comfy bed in a hotel room reminiscent of a cabin, what with its wooden walls and furniture, but in the morning I would be out in the forest studying some more floral samples. They had some really intriguing properties. Several were either phosphorescent, or had a unique form of bioluminescence- we weren't sure yet.

We? Yeah, I wasn't here alone. In the next room over was Spock, who was probably also up at this late hour. No, I don't think he was listening to the rain like I was; he was either meditating or still working on our floral studies. Workaholic.

I sat on my knees on the bed and looked out the window. The rain was really coming down. I couldn't sleep- I just wasn't tired. So I got out of bed and left my room.

I walked down the carpeted hallway until I came to the balcony at the end of the two-story building. Stepping outside, I took in a deep breath. I loved the smell of rain. It was even better because the balcony had an overhang, so I wouldn't get wet. Despite the darkness I enjoyed the view. Rolling pasturelands with a forest not far off to the left- that was where Spock and I found our samples. Even now I could see some lights from the glowing plants.

I don't know how long I stayed out there. I was about to leave when I caught sight of someone hurrying down the gravel road on the right. I frowned. Whoever he was he was going to catch a cold if he stayed out much longer in this weather. No matter, though. He was moving at a decent clip and vanished in the direction of the hotel's entrance. Perhaps it was a late-hour patron.

On foot? My mind niggled. Well, it was a bit odd, but he could have stepped out and then returned inside. Unlikely, my brain continued to say. But where else could he have come from? The hotel was a long way from anywhere.

Turning inside, I tried shrugging it off. It didn't work when moments later there was a piercing scream from downstairs.

Instantly I was bolting down the corridor racing for the stairwell at the other end. Spock burst out of his room as well- I knew he wasn't sleeping. Another door opened behind us and we pelted down the stairs into the spacious lobby.

We stopped dead cold.

Mr. Landsworth, the proprietor of the establishment, was lying face-down on the carpet. A red pool was beneath him. His daughter Leslie, the lovely receptionist who had greeted us when we arrived, was standing on the other side of the lobby near the employee rooms, looking horrified. Behind her another employee raced down from upstairs and a second came from the kitchen, arriving like we did. Lastly, near the door was a wide-eyed man in a rain slicker, pale as a ghost. A bloodied knife was between him and the victim.

"What happened?" I shouted, leaping for Mr. Landsworth. I rolled him over and inwardly swore. His throat had been cut from ear to ear.

"I d-d don't kno-ow," the wet man by the door stuttered. "I came in… and he was just lying there…"

"Really?" an employee, the chef, Vincent Turner, sneered. "That's your story? You walked in and found him like this? And just what were you doing walking around in the middle of the night in a rainstorm?"

I recalled the man I had seen from the balcony. "You weren't driving, either," I said. At his startled look I elaborated. "I saw you. You were on foot. Why were-"

"Oh my God!" someone yelped. I turned around and saw Mrs. Gordon, another patron, fanning herself at the sight. Her husband supported her, talking quietly. Then the whole room erupted into chaos as everyone started talking at once. Vincent was getting angry, the man at the door was looking more and more scared and Leslie just seemed numb- could be shock I'd have to look at her…

"If you will please get a hold of yourselves." I looked and saw that Spock had taken center-stage. Everyone quieted and looked at him. "It is obvious that someone has committed murder," he said blandly. Some dirty looks were thrown the wet man's way. "However," Spock continued. "Right now there is no evidence of _who_ killed Mr. Landsworth." There were some protests but he raised a hand and silenced them. "There _are_ suspects. I suggest that everyone remain in the lobby while the authorities are contacted-"

"They'd have a hard time getting here," the man said. "The road's flooded from the river down a ways. I had to leave my car." Ah, so that's why he came on foot. But he was apparently very determined.

An elderly employee- the one who had come from upstairs- frowned. "Then that means that the hotel phones are also out. They have lines which run right by the road. If part of the road's underwater then so are they."

"I see." Spock glanced outside. "And unfortunately, this weather prevents communications with our ship, as well as other forms of wireless-"

He was interrupted by a snort from Mrs. Gordon. "Wireless communications are no good, too? Well, we'll see about that."

The Vulcan inclined his head. "You are welcome to try, Madame, however Demetria is known for its storms producing high static electricity within its clouds. It will be very difficult to puncture through them, to say the least." She just huffed.

"Well, then what do you suggest we do?" I asked him.

"For starters, we must ascertain the facts." Spock walked up to the wet man, who was now shivering. "What is your name?"

"Br-Brice Parton," he stammered, uncomfortable under Spock's scrutiny.

"Why were you arriving at so late an hour?"

He glanced to his left. "I, uh, I had an urgent message to give Le- Miss Landsworth." He shifted.

"What was the message?"

Brice looked down. "Well," he glanced up shyly. "Mark Truett passed away."

Spock looked at Leslie, who was leaning dully against the wall. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

Slowly, she nodded. "Yes. He was an old friend. He-" she covered her face in her hands. Vincent went up and comforted her.

"So you raced down here in a rainstorm, leaving your car behind at an uncrossable river, to tell Miss Landsworth that her friend was dead," Spock restated, returning his attention to Brice.

"Yes," he hiccupped. "The three of us were very close- I figured she would want to know as soon as it happened… I mean as possible… I…"

Spock changed the subject. "What happened when you came inside?"

"I told you, he was just lying there. I stood still, frozen solid, then Leslie came down the stairs and screamed and well, the rest you know." He finished and stood awkwardly, shaking.

"Miss Landsworth, what did you see?" Spock asked gently.

"I- I came down for a drink of water," she said. She drew more strength and pulled away from Vincent. "I rounded the landing you see on the stairs- and I saw Father lying there… Brice was by the door…" tears started streaming down her face.

"Thank you," Spock said quietly.

"Well?" Mrs. Gordon demanded after a moment of inaction. "Aren't we going to lock him up?"

Brice looked frightened, but Spock shook his head. "We have no evidence that Mr. Parton committed the murder." Taking a cloth, he knelt down and gingerly picked up the knife. "There are also no fingerprints." There was some more arguing which Spock again silenced. "Dr. McCoy, are you willing to examine the body more closely?"

I looked down at Mr. Landsworth. "I don't have a proper Sickbay but I'll do what I can. Could somebody set up a table in my quarters?"

The elderly employee nodded. "There's a fold-up one in the back," he said, retreating to the employee workspace. While he was doing that Spock left and came back with a tricorder. "Since we'll be moving the body it will be best to record as much raw data as possible," he explained. He took recordings of the knife and then the surrounding room.

"What about him?" Mrs. Gordon interjected, pointing back at Brice. "We can't just leave him free."

"Madame, there is no-" Spock was saying again when Vincent interrupted.

"He's the prime suspect," he pointed out. "Your people think logically, would it be _logical_ to leave the prime suspect of a murder unhindered?"

I bit my lip and glanced at Spock. The appeal to logic was definitely the right one to make. "You are correct," he conceded. "However, since we do not have proper restraining facilities, we shall have to improvise." He turned to where the elderly employee was struggling with the table, assisted by Mr. Gordon. "Mr…?"

"Bird. Harry Bird," he said, smiling at Mr. Gordon for the help.

"Mr. Bird, are you able to adjust the locks on a room's doors and windows so that they can only be opened from the outside?"

Bird rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, I can do that. I'll need help with the window since I'll need to be outside and this weather isn't the kindest." At his words there was a flash of lightning and a boom.

"I shall assist you," Spock said. "Mr. Parton, I hope you will not object to being locked in a room here for the night-"

"No," he said. "No, I see where everyone's coming from. But I'm innocent," he insisted. "Know that."

"We shall see." Spock turned back to the run. "Doctor, once the table is set up if you will proceed with the examination, Mr. Bird and I will secure Mr. Parton's room. As for the rest you, I suggest you get some sleep. We will see if the weather has abated for communications in the morning."

I grunted as I lifted up one end of Mr. Landsworth. Vincent helped me with the other. Harry and Mr. Gordon had set up the table and we laid him on top of it. In the stairwell we had passed by Mrs. Gordon, who was staring after where Leslie had disappeared at the opposite end of the hotel.

"That poor girl," she whispered. "She shouldn't be alone tonight…"

Thanking Vincent, he left me to my work. I gathered my medkit and scanner, and a few other tools we had brought down for our scientific outing. As I started the examination- it wasn't a true autopsy- I glanced back out at the rain which had kept me up. Looking back at the body in my room, I figured I wasn't going to get to go back to sleep. Likely none of us were.

* * *

**Dun dun duuuuunnnnnn! What more will happen on this dark and stormy night? Please review, and oh! You will get points if you can correctly name where I got the name 'Harry Bird' from. Stay tuned for more!**


	2. The Greek Interpreter

**A/N: I have named the hotel! Now just to name the chapters... I don't own Star Trek or Sherlock Holmes-style (which is way better than Gangnam Style). Go nerds!**

* * *

I only managed to catch about an hour and a half of sleep right before dawn. While the examination had taken up half of the remaining night, the results kept me pondering for the rest of it. Too soon I was awakened by Spock shaking my shoulder telling me that everyone was meeting in the lobby before breakfast. I groaned and got up. They weren't going to like what I had to say.

Sure enough, everyone was there, milling about quietly. Vincent was pacing near the employee side of the hotel, Bird was watching him, Leslie was in a chair, and the Gordons were whispering in a corner. I frowned as I descended the stairs. Someone was missing. Looking behind me, I saw Spock escorting Brice. There he was.

Everyone quieted and then Spock spoke. "Mrs. Gordon, have you had any success in wireless communications?"

Mrs. Gordon, surprised that she was being addressed, tried to disguise it with a haughty air. "Not with that storm still raging," she snapped.

I glanced out the window. Although raining, it certainly wasn't 'raging'.

Spock merely nodded. "I have also been unable to contact our ship. Mr. Bird, are the lines still down?"

He nodded.

"And it is logical to assume that the road is still flooded," Spock concluded. "Very well. Doctor, what are the results of your examination?"

I took a deep breath. "The knife didn't kill Harrison Landsworth."

There was certainly a reaction. Many people started and then began talking at once. Leslie stood up abruptly and cast a glance at Brice. He just looked like he didn't know what to think.

When things quieted down, Vincent said "well, who did?"

"I don't know," I answered. "There were no fingerprints on the body. I do know what ultimately killed him." Another breath. "He was poisoned."

Mrs. Gordon nearly swooned. "And here you tell us, right before breakfast."

"The poison wasn't ingested, ma'am," I said. "It was delivered through skin-to-skin contact. I found inflamed areas on the hands and face where he made contact with it. After exposure, it worked its way into his immune system, and, simply put, caused it to freak out. His body started attacking his own cells until it killed him. I estimate he died about 20-30 minutes after exposure."

"And the knife wound?" Spock asked.

"Made post-mortem."

"Why would someone want to kill a dead man?" Mrs. Gordon complained. I hid my snicker at her phrasing.

"There are a couple reasons," Spock began. "First, to perhaps ensure that the victim is dead; second, to hide the evidence of the real murder weapon; third, it is a psychopathic characteristic; and fourth, mere spite."

Everyone looked a little green. Even Spock, but, well…

After a long moment Leslie spoke up. Her voice was low and hoarse. "We should have a funeral service."

"Are you sure?" Brice said tentatively. "Shouldn't we wait for the police?"

"Parton," Vincent said. "She just lost her father in a terrible, unexpected way. Now instead of having his body rot while we wait for the storm to clear, she wants a funeral service for him. So we're going to have it." He looked at anyone who would disagree.

"It's not logical," Spock said. "The police will need to examine the body-"

"-and they can do that after the service!" Vincent insisted. "Ever heard of exhuming someone?"

"That will contaminate the-"

"Oh, for the love of-!"

"Hey!" I shouted. Everyone looked at me, but I looked at Leslie. "Miss Landsworth," I said. "We can have a service, but understand that we can't bury the body. Not yet. Besides, wouldn't you rather bury your father on a brighter day than a wet one filled with gloom?"

She looked out the windows. The rain was still coming down in sheets. "It is terrible weather for digging," she said at last. "But where are we going to keep him? Surely, he can't stay in your room, Doctor."

Bird stepped in. "Landsworth can stay in his own room," he said. "For the service we can lay him out on the bed and cover him with a blanket. I can spray some chemicals to keep the smell away."

"Will that be alright?" I asked gently.

After a moment she nodded. "Yes." Leslie drew herself up. "Let's honor my father."

* * *

We gathered in Mr. Landsworth's former room after breakfast. Vincent and I had carried the body there. I had looked around the employee rooms and found they were remarkably similar to the guest wing; it was just a shorter hallway.

Landsworth was covered with a sheet and we all had a moment of silence. Then Leslie got up and stood by the foot of the bed.

"Father was always very kind," she began. "And gentle. He could be firm, especially in business, and sternly enforced what rules there were, but he would always listen to you if something was on your mind." She paused. "He may have been a bit rigid in his views on society, but that was part of what made him old-fashioned… and led him to build this hotel." Leslie sighed. "As according to his will, I am taking over management of the hotel Jana."

Someone stiffened. I glanced over and saw Brice looking concerned. Leslie looked at him back, an apology and a longing in her eyes. This was interesting. I filed it away for later.

Bird also got up and spoke. He had worked for Landsworth 38 years, 29 of them in the hotel. Vincent also added some words. I thought we were done when Brice shyly walked up and faced us.

"Landsworth-" his voice was dry and scratchy so he took a moment to clear it. "Mr. Landsworth was a good, hardworking man. We may have… had our differences, yet despite this," he swallowed. "I admired his ethics." Brice came back and stood by Leslie. It didn't escape my attention when their fingers intertwined, once, briefly. As Spock was sure to say; fascinating.

We had another moment of silence, then filed out one by one. I walked with Spock through the lobby and up the stairs into his room. I shut the door and reclined on my heels.

"So how long are you planning to wait before we get the police?"

He looked at me. "It is not a matter of waiting in that respect, Doctor. We cannot call for aid until the storm abates."

I looked out at the lashing rains. "If we were desperate enough someone could go on foot."

"Perhaps, Doctor. We have not yet reached that critical point."

I raised an eyebrow. "Have we? In case you haven't realized, there's a murderer in our midst."

"I am well aware of that. However, until we know who, there is not much we can do."

I shook my head. "Everyone's going to be jumpier than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

Spock raised an eyebrow, but did not reply. He'd heard that phrase too much from me.

"So," I said, sitting in a chair. It was hard to find one, he had lab equipment on almost every surface of the room. "Brice and Leslie seem cozy."

Spock looked at me. "What makes you say that, Doctor?"

"I thought you were supposed to know everything," I retorted. He didn't rise to the bait and I sighed. "The way they look at each other. Try to maintain formality but fall back on each other's first names. Plus, they were holding hands at the funeral."

"Indeed…" He considered this. "They were also the two to find Mr. Landsworth's body."

"And Brice said that they had had some 'differences'," I grew more excited, but at the same time knew everything was completely unfounded. Well, maybe not _completely_. "Spock, if two young lovers wanted to get married, but one's father disapproved, what would you do?"

"Negotiate," Spock said.

I rolled my eyes. "Don't think logically, for once, _just once_! You and your partner could elope. Or you could go ahead and get married. Or you could get rid of the disapproving party."

Both eyebrows went up. "Are you suggesting that Mr. Parton and Miss Landsworth conspired to murder her father?"

I waved a hand. "Just speculating; commenting on my observations is all. Helps me think."

"That explains much." Spock turned away as I frowned.

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" I tossed at him. He didn't turn around and just kept fiddling with the equipment- which meant yes.

"You could try talking to yourself every now and then," I said, settling back in my chair. "You'd be surprised at the things you realize." I looked around the room. "For instance, did you notice how fitting this hotel's name is for our current circumstances?"

"Jana?" Spock mused.

"C'mon, man," I said. "I know you're caught up on Earth history. Jana was the Greek goddess of secrets, mysteries, and hidden things."

* * *

**I'm loving this. And you should see my outline. It's quite intimidating. But that just means there's more to come, so stay tuned! (By the way, the whole 'guess where I got the name Harry Bird from' is still a go. But it's not Harvey Birdman. And it's not really relevant to the story, it's just a fun sort of thing). Please review!**


	3. The Resident Patient

**A/N: Hee, hee, looky looky! I've named the chapters! And they're all after real Sherlock Holmes stories! (which I do not own). Neither do I own Star Trek. **

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The rain was gone when the next day rolled around, however the cloud cover was oppressively heavy. Our communicators still couldn't puncture through and we saw why- although it wasn't raining, sheet lightning danced among the clouds. The river would also need to go down before anyone could use the road or the main phone lines. Despite the dreary circumstances, everyone tried to retain a pretense of normalcy.

"Sugar with your coffee?" Leslie asked, doing her best to convey a pleasant smile.

"Thank you, dear," I replied, offering her my cup. The diner extended below the guest rooms, and was painstakingly empty. There were so few of us. Vincent was back in the kitchen making the food, Bird was tending to the hotel, and Spock was up still studying the floral samples. I grunted. Granted, we probably needed to finish what we came here for, but it seemed so petty compared to the loss of human life. Of course, McCoy, I told myself. You might find something in these plants that helps prevent death.

I swirled my coffee and Mrs. Gordon harrumphed. I looked at where she was sitting dourly at a table, arms crossed. Brice was nearby, at another table. I didn't see Mr. Gordon.

Considering the woman's aptitude for chat, and her lack of desirable company (Brice wasn't a bad kid, but she was convinced he was the murderer), I took my coffee and walked over to her.

"Mind if I sit down, Madame?"

"Please," she said, gesturing a chair. "Gerald's not down here; he's in the shower. I don't what it is with that man and showers but he takes the _longest_ showers in the world! I told him that if he didn't come out in the next 5 minutes then I would go to breakfast without him and sure enough, here I am." She peered at me. "I'm a woman of my word, Doctor…?"

"McCoy," I said, bowing my head. "Leonard McCoy, ma'am."

She huffed, but looked pleased at the same time. "You certainly know your manners. I've heard that accent before… are you from the United States?"

"Yes ma'am, from Georgia."

Mrs. Gordon smiled- it looked weird on her face. "Yes, southern chivalry is quite well-known. It's hard to find gentlemen these days, isn't it? I mean Gerald is as decent as the world, but he doesn't talk much-"

She was interrupted when Leslie approached us. "Well, since it's just the three of you, I can take all your orders now," she said. "Mrs. Gordon?"

"Oh, come to me last, I'm still deciding," she waved, picking up the menu.

Leslie shrugged. "Doctor McCoy?"

"The pancakes and hash browns, please."

She scribbled it on a pad. "Br- Mr. Parton?"

"Um, the melted cheese omelet?" he said. Brice frowned and consulted the menu further. "Actually, could I change that to a sausage biscuit? Guess I'm not as hungry as I thought I was."

Mrs. Gordon snorted. "Well, you're crazy, but _that_ sounds delicious." She turned to Leslie. "I'll have what he was going to have."

"The melted cheese omelet?"

"Yes, that."

Leslie scribbled some more on her notepad. "Okay, it should be up soon. I've got to-" she turned around. "Oh, Vincent! There you are. Three orders…" they moved off towards the kitchen beneath the employee rooms.

"Anyway," Mrs. Gordon said, picking up the thread of our conversation. "Like I was saying, Gerald doesn't talk much but he _is_ the world's greatest listener, so I shouldn't complain, but sometimes I wish he would show a little more backbone, you know? But he's the youngest of six, so I suppose he just learned to blend in to the shadows, which makes him such a sneak. Do you know what he did for our 30th anniversary? I come home to a supposedly empty house and I find a note on the table saying _if you love me, you will not move_. Naturally, at this point I'm beginning to fret and I'm thinking about calling police when he swoops up behind me with a pearl necklace and places it around my neck." She sighed, and placed a hand on her throat. "Such a sweet, sneaky man…"

Leslie returned with a platter of food. "That is quite some impressive service, Miss Landsworth," I complimented.

She gave a tight smile. "Well, there are only three of you and Vincent's one heck of a cook. You had the pancakes and hash browns?"

"Yes'm."

She set the plate down and reached for another. "Brice, here's your omelet."

"You mean, _my_ omelet," Mrs. Gordon said irritably.

"I got a sausage biscuit," Brice put in.

"Oh yes! Sorry." She set the omelet in front of Mrs. Gordon and gave Brice his biscuit. "Okay, anything else? Refills?"

Brice got some more water and I asked for some cream for my coffee. Mrs. Gordon was already digging into her omelet when Leslie left, still trying to talk to me about her husband.

"You know, I wonder if he plans on doing anything sneaky while we're here," she mused around cheese and egg. "I hope he doesn't; this was supposed to be a relaxing vacation and any more excitement might give me a heart attack!" She dabbed her lips with a napkin.

"Well, at least you aren't bored," I said mildly.

"True, Doctor, very true." She went back to her omelet. "Still, though, it's so terrible! Poor Mr. Landsworth, I'm sure he deserved better."

"Everyone usually deserves better than they get," I swallowed some hash browns. "Unfortunately, life doesn't work that way. Or death."

"Wise words, Doctor," she got out. Mrs. Gordon set down her fork and leaned over the table, arms encircling her middle. "Ohhh, this omelet must be terrible, it's making me cramp up."

"How badly?" I asked, concerned.

Her brow furrowed and she squeezed her eyes shut. "It's getting worse," she moaned. She swayed in her chair.

I stood up and put a hand on her shoulder. "Mrs. Gordon?"

She opened her eyes and looked at me. "Doctor?"

She keeled over to the side and I caught her, shouting at Brice to grab my medkit. As he ran out of the diner, Leslie and Spock ran in. Vulcan hearing. Bird joined us and we laid Mrs. Gordon out on the floor. When Brice returned he had a frightened Mr. Gordon with him, hair wet and clothes askew.

"Marie? Marie!"

I snatched my medkit and ran the scanner over her. Her metabolism was digesting some kind of foreign substance- poison. I reached for a hypo of Recetizide. It wouldn't cure the poison, but it was highly effective for flushing the system. With any luck she could just sweat it out.

Sure enough, a moment later she started shivering and perspiring like crazy. I stopped Mr. Gordon from freaking out. "She's dying!"

"No," I calmed him. "This is what the medication's supposed to do; it's getting the poison out of her system." Some color was already returning to her face as she blinked blearily. "Gerald?"

Mr. Gordon clasped his wife's hand. "I'm here, Marie, I'm here." Vincent hurried into the room with a glass of water.

"Oh, Gerald…" she trailed, looking down. "I'm all sweaty…"

"Don't worry about that, dear, we'll just take a shower."

"You and your darn showers," she mumbled as he helped her to her feet. The crowd parted as they passed. I jumped after them.

"One moment, Mrs. Gordon," I said, catching her arm.

"What?" she whined.

"Just a sample," I swabbed her arm. "So I can analyze what poison this was."

Everyone's eyes bugged. "_Poison?_"

I glared at them. "Yes," I said seriously. "For all we know it could be the same kind used to kill Mr. Landsworth."

Several people paled. Spock just handed me my tricorder so I could run the sample through. The identification popped up quickly.

"It's herbal," I said. "Some kind of plant, though it won't give exactly _which_ one." I considered this.

"If it's the same as what killed Mr. Landsworth, then it's obviously not as lethal when ingested," Spock mused.

I frowned. "It took almost half an hour for Landsworth to die, Spock. Mrs. Gordon was going downhill pretty fast, but she got treatment. I'd say it's lethal in any form."

"And what did you say it was?" Vincent moved closer. "A plant?"

"That's correct," I repeated.

He slowly straightened. "Not to point fingers or anything," he said. "But aren't you two here collecting plants?"

Spock and I suddenly found a bunch of accusing eyes turned our way. "Now, wait a minute," I said. "Yes, we're studying the flora, but we sure didn't kill anybody."

"Maybe," Vincent replied curtly. "You've taken over an unofficial investigation; that allows you to control the information. And conclusions."

"Everyone was present when the facts were stated," Spock supplied. "Anyone can draw the same logical conclusions."

"Not everyone can confirm the said _facts_." Vincent whirled on me. "We only have your word, _Doctor_, that Landsworth was poisoned. We only have your word _Mr. Spock,_ that you can't reach your ship."

"While that may be," Spock declared, overriding the man's tirade. "You have not considered another thing. Motive. What motive do we, two foreigners from Starfleet, visiting this planet on a scientific venture, have to kill a man in cold blood? A man we hardly knew? Your reasoning is not logical."

"Maybe not that," Mr. Gordon said quietly. He was still protectively hugging his wife. "But you did say that the poison was from a type of plant. And the two of you are the only ones here with access to a variety of plants. You could use them at your disposal."

"Those plants aren't useful for anything beyond a nightlight!" I exclaimed, getting angry. "None of them are harmful to humans."

"Again, your word," Vincent said.

Leslie inched closer to me. "Doctor," she said softly. "If you get a sample of the right plant, will it match the poison?"

"If I run it through the tricorder, yes," I said, trying to reel in my temper. I showed her the screen. "See this graph? Another sample would be another line, and if the lines match then so do the samples."

There was a tense silence. Then Bird sighed. "I hate to go along with, but I suppose we must check out every lead. May we all look at the plants in your quarters, gentlemen? And see if anything you have matches?"

"Of course," Spock said. He straightened. "Mr. and Mrs. Gordon, you need not accompany us. No doubt you need rest." With that, we all headed up the stairs to our rooms.

Even knowing we were innocent, I couldn't help but feel tense. It was an odd sort of feeling, being implicated in a murder. And one way or another, when we opened those doors, people's minds were going to be made up.

* * *

**Ohhh, yes. I'm actually ahead in writing than I am in posting; I'm already well into chapter 4. Thoughts, people? Who do you think is the culprit? Also, DeForest Kelley fans, c'mon, guess where 'Harry Bird' is from! (hint, hint). Please review... I want to know I'm not alone in the universe...**


	4. The Dying Detective

**A/N: Thanks everyone for the reviews. Also, congratulations to 'Guest' for correctly naming where I got 'Harry Bird' from- Fear in the Night. OH MY GOSH I LOVE THAT MOVIE! The music! The effects! The plot! The twists! DeForest Kelley! AAAAAAHHHHHH! (has embarrassing fangirl moment)**

**For those of you unfamiliar with that film, Fear in the Night is a 1947 film noir and also DeForest Kelley's film debut (he's 27, guys. Wow). Anyway, let's get back to the story.**

* * *

"My, God."

Since my room was closer to the stairs, we stopped at it first. But when we opened the door, I barely recognized it.

Drawers were opened, the bed was unmade, and things littered the floor. Equipment was tossed around, a lot of it broken, and lay in shattered remains. Plants were drooping everywhere- on the windowsill, in the bathroom, on the bed and underfoot. A few were glowing dimly, most were dark. There were some bright patches where stems had snapped, oozing phosphorescence. The room was in shambles.

"It looks like a bomb went off in here," I said faintly. Probably an ill choice of words, but the level of destruction shocked me.

Spock's room was even worse. Since he'd had more equipment and samples, there were simply more things to smash. We didn't dare try walking into his because of all the broken glass. So we stood out in the hallway, trying to think of something to say.

It was Brice who first broke the silence. "This can't be," he said, shaking his head. "When I ran up here to grab the doctor's kit everything was in order."

"Did you ransack it?" Vincent asked.

"No! I found the kit right away- it was on his bed, just like he said."

" 'He' is standing right here, you know," I retorted, crossing my arms. "It must have happened while we were all down tending to Mrs. Gordon."

"Indeed," Spock said. He narrowed his eyes. "Has anyone else's room been ransacked?"

There was a pause, then everyone broke out running in different directions, opening doors and checking luggage. Leslie and Vincent ran off to check the employee side, but as far the main part of the hotel went, Spock and I were the only victims.

"Hey!" came Leslie's excited voice. "I found something!"

We all rushed over to where she was in the employees' section. Near the kitchen and ware-rooms was a hall leading to a back door. There was some glowing remnants on the carpet.

"Whoever trashed your rooms must've come this way," she chatted. "He left footprints!"

We leaned in for a closer look. Sure enough, the traces of brightness were the glowing phosphorescence of the plants native to Demetria. The scoundrel must have come this way after trashing our rooms.

I turned towards Spock and noticed him frowning. "What is it, Spock?" I asked. "Isn't this a clue?"

"Yes, Doctor, though I fear we are interpreting it incorrectly," he said.

"How can that be?" Bird asked, catching our conversation. "It makes since to me."

"We are operating under the assumption that the person made these tracks from the crushed plants in our rooms," Spock said. Everyone was looking at him now. "If that were so," he continued. "Would we not also find these tracks much closer to the rooms? As it is, the hall and stairs are clean of any glowing footprints. Why then, are they only on the other end of the hotel?"

"Hey, he's right," Brice said. "That doesn't make any sense."

Spock looked at the door. "I believe these footprints were made not by someone trekking through our rooms, but from traversing in the forest."

There was a flash of lightning and a boom of thunder.

"Absurd," Vincent crossed his arms. "Who in his right mind would go out in this weather?"

Something about the forest reminded me. "Spock," I said. "When we were out there collecting samples from a few days ago- we got about every type of plant there was. But there was one we didn't touch, because the tricorder said it was dangerous to humanoids."

Leslie sucked in her breath, catching on fast. "Could that be the plant that's been used to…" she trailed off and cast a worried glance at the door.

"Maybe," I said. "We'd need a sample to be sure."

"I shall go out into the forest and collect the readings," Spock volunteered.

"In this weather?" I retorted, pointing at the cloud cover. "What if it starts raining again? You'll be down for the count. You know Vulcans don't handle rainstorms very well."

"Doctor," Spock began, but I cut him off.

"Exactly. _Doctor._ If I can keep you from _getting_ sick, then I'm the best darn Doctor around!" I watched my language for the sake of Leslie. "I'll get the sample."

Spock must have weighed the decision logically, because for once I was determined to make logical sense. "Very well," he said. "You recall what the plant looked like?"

"Sure, red-tipped fern. Had to watch out for them, after all." I looked around and saw some worried faces. "I'm not going to bring the plant _here_," I consoled. "Just get some tricorder readings to compare with the poison. And if they do match, then we can scour the hotel for wherever someone's hiding the ferns." They nodded.

Bird sighed. "Alright, Doctor," he said. "Let's get you a rain slicker."

* * *

It was quite blustery when I went out through the back door. It still wasn't raining but the ground was soaked and squelched beneath my feet. I was armed with some gloves and a tricorder; Brice's rain slicker pulled over my uniform. Sizing myself up against the chill prolonged rains always bring, I set out across the lawn for the forest.

It couldn't really be termed a lawn, though. It was just green grass for a long ways before the tree line. It was level, and then a hill dropped down towards the woods. It wasn't too steep, but it was a generous incline. I set off towards it. Only a few, sparse trees lined the crest. They were arranged in a neat line, leading me to think someone had planted them there long ago. They were very tall and straight; stately. Despite the gloomy weather and cold, I paused for a moment to admire them. Guardians of the Fortress, they seemed like. Or rather, Guardians of the Forest.

Of course, some of the Guardians were failing. The tree nearest me was probably once the grandest of them all, only long since dead. No leaves grew on its branches, and there were some signs of rot near the base. I sighed, unhappily reminded of Mr. Landsworth and my mission. Leaving the dead tree, I began picking my way down the hill.

The grass was slippery and I swear the ground moved underfoot. In deeper depressions mud would sometimes catch my boot and I'd have to yank it free, and then catch _myself_ from tumbling downhill. I cursed. The hill wasn't this treacherous the last time Spock and I had walked it. Of course, that had been when it was dry and hadn't been raining for almost two days.

The wind picked up and whistled around me. I batted away tufts of the rain slicker, which kept flying in my face. Naturally the wind did nothing to help my trek down the incline. I focused more on keeping my balance and not losing the tricorder.

"Blast it all," I muttered. I was already shivering. "Fine way to spend your time on a shore leave planet-"

There was a cracking and groaning sound behind me. I again yanked my boot out of a mud puddle and then turned around to see what was making that terrible smashing and saw…

My jaw dropped. I didn't know if it was the wind or _what_ but that dead tree had finally quit and toppled over and –God of all things- being on top of the hill, gravity decided to keep working so this mammoth of wood starts _rolling_ down to little ol' me perched right in its path.

"Sonuva-!"

I take off, intending to run sideways or something to get out of the log's way, but the grass slips me up and I roll to my knees. I scramble back on my feet, now down the incline a couple yards, and decide to use gravity to my benefit: run down the hill. All caution gone, I pelt as hard as I can for the forest. The incline causes me to take much larger strides than I am comfortable with, and I freak about losing my balance and falling- and then getting squashed by a tree.

I don't dare glance behind me to see how far a lead I've got because that would probably make me trip and fall. Besides, I could hear it gaining. The crunching and snapping of its branches only got louder as it neared.

I aimed for the end of the hill. Once it leveled out I could run for the forest; maybe the tree line could stop the it. The bottom came and I lunged, intending to sprint across the final stretch for the woods.

Instead I went down in a tangle of limbs.

Naturally, I should've remembered that water pools at the lowest parts. All of the runoff of two days of rain had collected at the bottom of the hill, and I'd just slid unceremoniously across it, losing my balance and falling. I glanced behind me. The tree was way too close and getting faster as the hill ended.

No time to think, I scrambled forward on hands and knees until I surged to my feet, dashing towards the trees with nothing but adrenaline in my brain. The tree was so loud by now that I couldn't even hear the blood rushing in my ears. Little twigs started pelting my back and my legs and in one last desperate burst of strength I dove into the undergrowth of the forest. I landed in a bush and hauled myself farther beyond a tree. There was an incredible crunching sound and the ground shuddered beneath me. The tree- that was upright- shook intensely and I ducked and covered my head as a shower of water drops and loose branches rained down on me. I stayed like that for what seemed like a long time, hardly daring to breath. Eventually there was silence as the last twigs fell.

Slowly, I raised my head and looked towards the tree that had been chasing me.

No less than three trees along the edge of the forest had stopped the former Guardian. The one closest to me had taken a lot of the force; its trunk was smashed in good, though it was still upright. I breathed a sigh of relief at my good fortune. I turned my head away from the sight-

-and found a red-tipped fern right in my face.

I jerked my head back and scrambled away. My mind reeled. Had I touched it? I was pretty well covered, except for my face. Quickly, I took some readings of myself. Aside from getting banged-up while running for my life there was nothing happening to my immune system. I exhaled. At least I hadn't gotten myself poisoned.

I ran the tricorder over the plant, and then brought up the analysis of the poison. When compared on a graph, the lines matched. Mr. Landsworth had been killed with the fern.

Turning the machine off, I eased my way into a standing position, eyeing the fern the whole time. I walked back to the treeline, and confronted my next problem. There was a giant tree trunk blocking my way.

* * *

Normally getting over fallen trees was no problem, though I wasn't as I young as I used to be and everything was wet. I still managed, though. Uneager to face the hill yet again, I took a longer path to the hotel which led me up a gentler slope away from any trees.

When I was back on the level of the hotel, I examined the stump left from the dead tree. I easily spotted the rotted part where it had given way, but on the other side were some cleaner, crisp markings. I traced them with a gloved hand. I knew an axe when I saw it. It would only take a few swings on the left side to have the right side cave in under the weight shift and topple over. Uneasy with this information, I hurried back to the hotel Jana.

"Good heavens!" Leslie exclaimed when I entered through the back door. "Dr. McCoy, you look terrible!"

I looked down, realizing I was soaked to the bone and covered in mud. I couldn't get much of a word in before she ushered me into the kitchen by the stove and sat me in a chair, removing the slicker, my boots, and socks.

"Are you alright?" she asked, moving to get something. "I didn't think a plant collection would be _that_ exciting."

"Normally, you're right," I said, finding my voice. "However most floral studies don't have giant logs chasing after you."

"What?" She placed something steaming in my hands. I sniffed the drink- smelled like hot chocolate. As I sipped it Spock and Bird entered, quickly coming to my side.

"Doctor, are you alright?"

"Never better," I said, waving Spock off. "That's probably the most exercise I've had in years." I inched closer to the stove, realizing how warm it was, and drank more hot chocolate.

"He said a log chased him," Leslie informed them.

Spock's eyebrow went up. "How can-"

"Look," I said irritably. "There were a bunch of trees at the top of that hill out there. One was dead, er, _fell_ down, and rolled down the hill while I was on it. I had to go warp speed to make it to the forest in time to avoid being crushed." I downed the rest of the hot chocolate.

Bird left, then returned. "One of the trees out there is missing," he said gravely. "That's probably the unluckiest coincidence I've ever heard of."

I shook my head. "It wasn't coincidence." I set down my mug and looked at their curious glances. "Yes, part of the tree was rotted," I said. "The other part was chopped."

"Someone cut it down?" Leslie asked, horrified.

"Looked like it. Has anyone been outside?"

"I don't know," Bird said. "But if what you say is true, Doctor, then this is the second attempted murder today."

"Today!" I exclaimed. Then I recalled the incident with Mrs. Gordon at breakfast. Was that just this morning? It seemed so long ago.

"I take this means we're cleared of suspicion?" Spock said dryly.

Bird held up his hands. "Don't look at me."

"I got the sample," I said. Leslie started. "That fern was a match to the poison."

"So someone has been using this fern to murder Mr. Landsworth and try to kill Mrs. Gordon," Bird mused.

"Perhaps," Spock said quietly. I could tell by the look on his face that something was on his mind. "Doctor," he addressed. "I suggest you retire to your room and rest."

"Spock, I'm not dying," I said, getting to my feet. "Once I've thawed out a bit more I'll be right as the rain, just you se-"

"Doctor," Spock said again, and this time I caught what he meant.

"I suppose I am a little tired," I said. "Thank you for the drink Miss Landsworth, I very much appreciate it."

"You're welcome, Dr. McCoy," she said. "I'm- sorry you had to go through that."

I waved a hand. "I've been through much worse, my dear. Just take care of yourself," I said seriously. "Whoever he is he isn't finished yet."

She nodded.

With that, Spock and I retreated out of the kitchen and headed for our rooms. We passed no one, which unnerved me. It seemed wrong that a hotel should be so quiet after two attempted murders. And what if there were more?

There aren't many things a doctor fears.

* * *

**In case I forgot to mention, I don't own Star Trek, Sherlock Holmes, or Fear in the Night (man, I'm really racking up a list). Please review, I really like this chapter!**


	5. The Crooked Man

**A/N: Sorry I haven't updated as recently as normal. Here it is: (I don't own everything I've said I don't own).**

* * *

I actually was pretty tired. When I got into my room I practically collapsed on the bed and went straight to sleep. When I woke up several hours later it was raining again, and I realized that the room looked rather neat. Someone had cleaned it up and I hadn't even noticed.

I padded out in the hall and tried Spock's room. When no one answered my knock I went in. He wasn't there. I considered going to find him, after all, it was a pretty small hotel, but figured that whatever he'd wanted to say to me was private, and it would be best not to let the whole hotel in on such a discussion. I retreated to my room.

After looking over the equipment that was saved from the ransacking, I went about recalibrating it. Shortly into that there was a knock on my door. I told whoever it was to enter and Harry Bird came in with a tray.

"Good evening, Dr. McCoy," he greeted.

"Evening?" I inquired. "I guess I have been out most of the day."

"Yes," he said. He set the tray on a table. "I brought you some hot tea."

"Thank you." I rose and joined him.

"You're welcome. I made it myself."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Is that meant as reassurance?"

"Perhaps." He reclined on a chair as I sat down on the bed across from him. "I don't trust Mr. Turner."

This was intriguing. "May I ask why?"

Bird sighed. "Oh, he's a very ambitious young man. He's worked here with us for almost ten years now. He's expressed interest in Leslie- and who wouldn't, she being a fine young lass out here in the middle of nowhere- but I've never fully gotten used to him."

"Gotten used how, Mr. Bird?"

Bird waved me off. "Please, call me Harry."

"Alright."

Harry frowned. "I'm not sure. I could never quite put my finger on it. Naturally, my suspicions are unfounded, but the recent events have me rethinking my gut instinct."

"You think Vincent's the murderer?"

Harry looked at me, amused. "I thought you were holding Mr. Parton for the authorities."

I snorted and sipped the tea. "He's as free as you and me- we just lock his room at night for the sake of Mrs. Gordon. Speaking of which," I frowned. "I should probably check on her; make sure she's alright."

"Yes," Harry said softly. He eyed me for a while longer. "Doctor, do you know why Brice and Leslie were both up at such a late hour?"

The use of first names caught my attention. "Why?"

"They're in love."

It wasn't something new. I remembered the funeral. "Yes, I can see that, but what does-"

"They had an appointment, Doctor. An appointment to meet each other, that night. Either as a romantic tryst or just to see each other again after so long I don't know. But that is why Brice, despite the weather, continued here, and why Leslie was up."

"Did Mr. Landsworth know about it?" I asked.

"No, I don't think he did." Harry smiled ruefully. "I only learned of it because I overheard Leslie on the telephone, helping plan it. I never mentioned it, because who am I to stand in the way of love? And at any rate, I like Brice better than I do Vincent."

I mulled it over. It made sense. As I sipped my tea another thought occurred to me.

"Harry," I said slowly. "What was Landsworth doing up at such a late hour?"

Harry frowned, wrinkles creasing his forehead. "I am not sure," he admitted.

"If he _was_ waiting for Brice it would just implicate the poor kid further into the murder," I grumbled.

"How so, Doctor?"

"Brice himself said that he and Landsworth didn't exactly get along. Landsworth was old-schooled…" I trailed off.

"Harrison didn't approve of Leslie dating Brice," Harry said. "He wanted someone with a more business-like approach to things to inherit the Jana."

I was surprised. "I thought in the will he left the hotel to Leslie."

"He did." Harry leaned back. "But like you said, he was old-school. Were Leslie married, her husband would get the hotel."

This was a lot. I shook my head, trying to absorb it all. So there was, perhaps, motive behind the murder. The hotel itself. But that didn't explain the attack on Mrs. Gordon or myself.

I grew suspicious and eyed Harry. "Why are you telling me this?"

He shrugged. "I'm an old man, Doctor. I don't want to see this hotel torn to shambles after so long managing it. You and Mr. Spock are the closest things we have to authority right now. Perhaps you can make a puzzle of the pieces." He rose. "I must get going now. Is the tea good?"

"Yes, it's excellent, thank you," I said. I still had half a glass left.

Harry noticed that and left it with me. "Good night, Doctor," he said. The door closed.

I thought about our conversation, swirling my tea. When I finished it I walked across the hall and checked on the Gordons. They were doing well, and Mrs. Gordon was about back to her crabby self. I bade them good-night and was closing their door when Spock walked down the hall.

"Spock-"

"Doctor," he replied, cutting me off. "If you will please join me in my room; there is much to discuss." He walked to his door.

When we were inside he locked the door. Even though I took a seat Spock remained standing. Typical.

"I have been assessing the footprints near the back door as well as the ransack of our rooms," he began. "I have come to the conclusion that one of the employees is responsible for it."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "Well, _we_ certainly didn't do it and the Gordons certainly didn't do it- I don't know if Brice counts as a guest or not…"

"Doctor, I am fairly convinced that Mr. Parton is innocent."

"Is that so?" I asked, playing nonchalant. "What gave you the idea?"

"Mrs. Gordon's poisoning." I frowned. "I have spoken with her and Miss Landsworth. Mr. Parton initially ordered the omelet, then recanted. Mrs. Gordon instead ordered it; it is conceivable that a slip resulted in poisoning the wrong person."

"So you think Brice was targeted."

Spock nodded. "Yes."

I added that to everything Harry had told me. "Well, here's some more for you," I said.

"What?"

I related my conversation with Harry Bird. When I finished, Spock's eyebrows had drawn very close together.

"Doctor," he said quietly. "Do recall the night of the murder?"

"Of course, Spock," I said, slightly irritated. "It isn't something that goes away so easily."

"Do remember that Vincent Turner, when everyone was running for the lobby, did _not_ emerge from the upper employee rooms, but rather, from the kitchen?"

Come to think of it, I _did_ remember that. Looked at it simply it didn't seem so odd, a chef in the kitchen, but what was a chef doing in the kitchen in the middle of the night?

"Spock," I said slowly. "Do you think Vincent murdered Mr. Landsworth?"

He nodded. "Yes. And from your information from Mr. Bird, I am now convinced more than ever." He noticed my frown. "It fits, Doctor. If Vincent wished to take over management of the Jana, he would have to act. He was not in the line of inheritance. If he were to kill Mr. Landsworth and marry his daughter, then he would be in control of the hotel. You said he had an interest in Leslie, and was very ambitious. The hotel is motive. Also, being here nearly ten years would give him a good layout of the land, and being a chef would mean he understands spices and herbs-"

"-and plants," I finished. It _was_ fitting. "But what about our rooms?"

"That's what I called you for," Spock said. "I determined that the footprints were made _before_ our rooms were ransacked. Doubtless, Vincent noticed them, and in an attempt to cover that they had been made from traversing through the woods, tried to make them seem to be leftovers from ransacking our rooms."

"Like we initially thought," I pointed out.

"Precisely. It is fortunate that we managed to see through his diversion, and locate the footprints true origins. Someone was definitely traveling out to the forest to collect the poisonous herb."

"There were no fingerprints on the knife," I recalled. "Meaning that someone used gloves- which would also protect you from that fern."

"Yes. We already know that Vincent emerged from the kitchen that night. He also has access to the food and the fern- thus poisoning the omelet. I believe Brice was targeted because he is a rival suitor. If he married Leslie, he would inherit the hotel."

"Throwing a wrench in Vincent's plans," I finished. "That still doesn't explain why he sent a tree after me."

"I believe, Doctor, that Vincent is very intelligent," he said. "For sure you were going to discover the fern that was used in the poisonings. So he tried to dispose of you, in a way that would keep his identity secret. You didn't see him chop down the tree."

"No, I was focused on maintaining my balance," I admitted. "Okay, so Vincent wants the hotel. He murders Mr. Landsworth, gets out of the way because suddenly Leslie and Brice show up, and he manages to pin it on Brice even though not everyone's convinced. So he tries to kill Brice to get him out of the picture so he can court Leslie. He notices he left tracks from his trips to the woods, so while we're attending Mrs. Gordon he runs up and destroys our rooms so it looks like the thief who did _that_ made the tracks. Then he tries to kill me when I go to see if his fern is the murder weapon." I shook my head. "What a crooked man." Then I sucked in a breath. "Where does that leave us now?"

"I am unsure," Spock said. "Although Vincent is most likely the culprit, we have very little evidence to actually _prove_ it. Unless…"

"Unless what," I picked up on the gears turning in his brain. "Spock, I know that look- what do you have in mind?"

"I believe you are out of danger, Doctor," he said. "Because the murder weapon has already been made publicly known. However, if Vincent is responsible, Brice Parton is still a problem to his plans."

"He might go after him," I clarified.

"That is true. Unless we go about this correctly." He made for the door. "And we shall need Mr. Parton's help."

Two minutes later we were in Brice's room, whispering Spock's plan. Brice agreed to it; it would catch the correct killer and clear his name. It was very dark when we left. Now we just had to wait.

* * *

**This chapter wasn't my favorite to write, but I'm really looking forward to the next two. Gosh, mysteries are _so_ hard to write! Please review!**


	6. The Creeping Man

**A/N: I think I'm addicted to author's notes. Oh well. Here's chapter 6! Dun dun duuuuunnnn! (Yeah, I know it's shorter than the other chapters, but a lot happens.) I don't own... a lot of stuff.**

* * *

The next evening I strolled nonchalantly across the lobby and into the employee side. Navigating to the kitchen, I briefly rehearsed what to say. The rain was still pounding down outside.

Vincent was by the stove, cooking a meal (perhaps his dinner?). He looked up when I walked in and smiled. "Good evening, Doctor. Can I get you anything?"

"Yes, I was wondering if I could acquire a cup of tea, like Bird gave me last night," I said. I looked around, as if searching for a way to make it myself.

"Oh, that'll be no problem at all," Vincent said, rummaging in a cupboard. "I don't know if I can make it quite like Harry, but it should still taste good to you."

"Well, thank you," I inclined my head. "But it's not for me."

Vincent paused. "Oh?"

"No, it's for Brice Parton. The poor boy hasn't been sleeping well, and considering what wonders that tea did for me last night I figured I might be able to get him some."

Vincent shook his head. "You're too kind, Doctor." Nevertheless, he still went about preparing it, stopping occasionally to check on the stove. I watched his movements carefully, stepping closer so that he would still be aware of my presence and, hopefully, not try to slip any poison in the drink.

"Here it is, Doctor," he said when he was done, handing it to me. "It's just normal tea, however. I don't see how it can make him sleep better."

I winked at him. "Oh, don't worry about that." Bending closer, I whispered conspiratorially. "I'm going to slip in a sedative. I've got this little red pill that'll knock him out like a light. He'll sleep soundly all the way into morning."

"Really…" Vincent trailed.

"Really," I said. "A bomb could go off and he wouldn't notice. Anyway, it does wonders to help my captain sleep; for Brice it should be no different."

"Clever, Doctor," he said, straightening.

I waved him off. "Oh, nothing too clever about it. I prescribe sleep for my patients; this is how I go about that." I looked down at the steaming mug. "Thank you for the tea, Vincent."

"Anytime."

I resisted the urge to look behind me as I exited the kitchen. The plan was in motion. Now we just had to hope he would fall for the bait.

* * *

It was just after midnight and I was getting tired. Spock and I had been up this entire time in his room, waiting for Vincent. Brice's door was across the hall, the outside lock gleaming in a strand of moonlight. It had stopped raining, and we could hear wind blowing the ragged clouds around in the sky.

"How much longer is this going to take?" I whispered, getting slightly cranky. I willed myself to control any outbursts.

"Unknown, Doctor. It could be that Vincent is not the culprit," he replied quietly.

I shifted and peered through the crack in the door. The hallway stayed empty.

"Well, if another hour goes by without any action I'm going back to my room and watching from there," I voiced.

"My room is most optimum for viewing any attack on Mr. Parton's door," Spock said.

"Listen, I could still see if anyone-"

"Quiet, Doctor," Spock suddenly said sharply.

I shut up and peered through the door with him. A shadowy figure was stepping quietly along the carpet and stopped in front of Brice's door. It reached a gloved hand up and undid the lock.

"Now."

Heeding Spock's command we burst out of the room. Vincent whirled around, shock registering on his features, before growing angry. "You!"

"You!" I shouted back. "You _are_ the murderer!" We approached him swiftly then stepped back as something swished past our faces.

"Stay back!" Vincent growled, brandishing the deadly fern. "Or I'll kill you."

I narrowed my eyes, wishing we had phasers. Spock and I started to press closer when suddenly Brice's door burst open and the man tackled Vincent. They both went down.

"Watch for the fern!" I shouted.

Spock got in the fray and managed to get a hold of Vincent's arm. He twisted his wrist and the man let out a gasp, dropping the fern. Brice kept him down on the floor and yanked off one glove. Spock did the same, so that Vincent couldn't touch the plant without getting poisoned himself. By the time they were staggering to their feet, the rest of the hotel had been drawn to us, and stood staring.

"What's happening?" Mrs. Gordon asked frightfully.

I gestured. "Vincent Turner here was trying to kill Brice. He also killed Mr. Landsworth."

There was a gasp among some people, but I noticed Harry didn't look surprised.

"Is he the one who tried to kill me?" Mrs. Gordon demanded.

I nodded. "And me. Although, in your case he was aiming for Brice."

We looked to where Vincent was struggling in Brice's grasp. The younger man just got a determined look on his face and strengthened his hold.

"Oh, Vincent," Leslie said softly. "How could you?"

Vincent looked at her murderously. "What do you mean 'how could I'?" he spat. "The old man had it coming; it was easy."

"But why?" she seemed numb.

"Miss Landsworth," Spock said. "Mr. Turner was planning on taking over the hotel. After he killed your father he planned to eventually marry you, and inherit the Jana accordingly. However, Mr. Parton disrupted that plan." He went on and explained the other aspects of the events of the last few days. Vincent didn't deny any of it.

"There's just one question," Spock said when he was done. He turned to the killer. "Why now? There are guests; why not wait until the hotel was empty?"

"A) There'd be fewer people to blame it on, and I might get found out, B) I saw the weather report and knew we were going to be alone for a few days and C) I got tired of waiting!" He glared at us.

"The only question left," Harry said. "Is what to do with him?"

Spock nodded. "Indeed. He must not be left alone, lest he discover some way to escape, and preferably restrained, so that-"

With a flash of movement Vincent wrenched away from Brice and pulled out his last card- the knife that had cut Mr. Landsworth's throat for good measure. He grabbed Leslie and held it next to her throat, halting my and Spock's advances.

"If anyone comes closer I'll kill her," he promised, a dark look on his face. Leslie paled and tugged at his arm but he just pulled her closer. Soon he was backing down the hall from us.

"Good," he crooned. "If you leave us alone we'll just be on our way and nobody will get hurt- stay right there!" he shouted at Brice, who had started forward. "You don't want your sweetheart to get hurt, do you?"

Brice trembled with fury.

"Everybody, nice and easy…" he went down the stairs and then rushed out the door, dragging Leslie with him. The moment they were gone we burst into action, chasing after them. We tore outside to see a car racing off, tires grinding against the gravel road.

"We have to do something!" Brice shouted, running after the vehicle. He was stopped by Spock but still struggled. "We have to save Leslie!"

"You are emotionally compromised," Spock said sternly. "And may do something rash. Dr. McCoy and I will handle this."

"How?" he demanded.

Spock looked down the other end of the gravel road, and I followed his gaze to where Landsworth's car gleamed.


	7. The Problem of Thor Bridge

**A/N: I know I've come out with three chapters just BAM! BAM! BAM! but please review. I originally wasn't going to post this chapter until later, but I'm worried that I'll have a full load of school-work this coming week so I'm uploading it while I still can. It's one of my favorites, so enjoy!**

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"Doctor, are you certain you know how to drive?" Spock inquired, and I swear he inquired _nervously_.

"Will you shut up?" I snapped, brow bent in concentration. It'd been a long time since I'd been behind the wheel of car back in Georgia, but I still scrounged my memory for- "Aha!"

I yanked the gear into drive and stepped on the gas pedal. The car jumped to life and we were careening down the slippery gravel road. I kept my foot on the accelerator, however. We had to catch up with Vincent.

"Dr. McCoy, I would suggest slowing down."

"And risk losing them?" I retorted. "Where's the logic in that?" I spared a glance at him in the passenger seat and noticed he seemed a bit greener than usual. Despite the circumstances I grinned. "Why, Spock, get a little carsick?"

"I am merely, concerned, about the reduced friction the tires have on wet gravel," he ground out. "And past experiences within this type of vehicle have not been comforting."

At his words we fishtailed slightly. Growling, I stomped the gas again and we were pushed back into our seats. We straightened out and then I gave a thank-you that it wasn't raining at the moment.

"Okay, there's a turn up ahead, so hold onto your hat!"

Spock really must have been rattled because he didn't even quip about not wearing a hat. I yanked the wheel and we took the turn sharply, and for a brief moment it seemed the car was going to roll, but it didn't and I drove even faster.

"Doctor, I am unsure if you are a very skilled driver or a very reckless one," Spock said.

I growled as I fought to keep the car from sliding all over the road. "Just keep your seatbelt on."

"I am, Doctor, yet you are not wearing yours."

"Will you just-!" Then there they were. Up ahead was another black car, speeding away from us. I pushed the pedal all the way down and again we were forced up against the backs of our seats as the car roared to life. The distance between us closed rapidly.

"Do ya have any plans on how to get 'em outta there?" I asked. I really wasn't eager to run someone off the road.

"Possibly, Doctor, if you could pull up to the left parallel to Vincent's car."

I floored it and complied, though I got an uneasy feeling I wasn't going to like Spock's plan. That bad feeling increased when Spock unbuckled himself and lowered his window.

"Are you crazy? What the hell are you doing?" I shouted at him. We hit a rough spot and I cursed, righting the car.

"Doctor, if you will please keep the car steady, I shall attempt to nerve-pinch Vincent."

"And how will you get to him? His window's up!"

There was a harsh bump and we careened to the left. I corrected before something hit us again. While I'd had qualms about running Vincent off the road, he was apparently fine with running us into the dirt. I grunted and moved the car closer to the right. Spock leaned out the window and, using his fist, smashed Vincent's driver window. Vulcan strength. There were some dips in the road and I fought to keep the car alongside the other as Spock cleared out the glass.

Suddenly Vincent yanked the wheel to the right. Spock nearly lost his grip and almost fell forward as he was pulled farther from his seat. I compensated, staying close to Vincent's vehicle and we bumped; neck and neck.

Keeping one eye on the road and the other on Spock, I noticed that Vincent had grabbed the knife with his spare hand. He slashed at Spock, nicking his wrist, before the Vulcan used his other hand to grab the knife handle. The two fought for control of the blade, both cars wobbling. Spock grabbed Vincent's wrist and squeezed. The man cried out and dropped the knife somewhere in the floorboards. Spock returned to his task.

I tore my gaze away from the fight and glanced up the road. My heart nearly stopped.

"Uh, Spock?" I called nervously. "Whatever you plan on doing, you'd better do it quick!"

Up ahead was where the road had flooded.

There may once have been a bridge there, I vaguely recalled it. Now it was completely submerged among a rushing torrent of water. We were fast approaching it.

"Spock…!"

"One moment, Doctor," Spock panted. He still tried to reach for Vincent's neck and maintain his dangerous position, but the man kept avoiding him.

"Spock, you've got 5 seconds before I'm stopping this car so we don't drown!"

"Better pick a car, Vulcan!" Vincent snarled. His elbow caught Spock in the jaw; hard enough to get a grunt from him.

"Spock, get your pointy ears back in here, I'm hitting the brakes!" I all but screamed and he released his hold on Vincent's car. His shoulders were back inside when I lived up to my promise and slammed the brakes. We screeched to a halt, sliding nerve-rackingly just before the swollen river.

Vincent, however, kept going. Perhaps he couldn't break in time, or hadn't noticed the flooding. Whatever the reason, he slammed into the rush. The front of the car sank into the water while the back end, after jumping up and slamming back down, still stuck out on the gravel road.

"Spock! We have to help them!" I leapt out of the car and stumbled along the gravel towards the unmoving vehicle. Spock took a quick moment to untangle himself from the window before running after me. I noticed an incline; the river was situated at the lowest point in the road. No matter, we had to see what condition they were in.

I reached it first and checked the backseat. Leslie was unconscious, having been thrown forward when the car hit the river. I opened the door and water spilled out. This wasn't good. The car was flooding.

I stepped inside and briefly looked her over. There was a gash on her forehead, but otherwise she seemed okay. "Spock, I'm going to lift her out to you." He nodded. I maneuvered Leslie across the backseat to Spock's waiting arms. He took her and carried her farther up the road and laid her down. I jumped out, splashing water. Now we had to get Vincent.

"Doctor, let me approach first," Spock said, suddenly behind me.

"The front's deep in water! Vulcans are desert creatures, you know that-"

"He may still be armed."

Spock sloshed carefully into the river. I followed closely, amazed at how fast it was moving. I held onto the car, thankful that, for now, it would keep us from being washed away. Of course, a ridiculous amount of spray was in our faces as the waves slammed into its side.

Spock reached the driver's door and we noticed that water was surging through the broken window into the vehicle. He stuck a hand inside- and jerked it back as something swiped at him.

"Get away from me!" Vincent shrieked.

"I highly recommend you let us help you out of the vehicle, Mr. Turner. The force of the water means we cannot open your door, and any exit from the passenger side will result in being swept downstream. We must pull you through the window." The window which was doubling as a waterfall at the moment.

Vincent didn't listen to Spock. "You'll just drag me to the police!"

With _great_ effort I resisted saying 'whose fault is that?' "Well, at least let us help you out of the car before it's swept downstream!" As if hearing me, the whole vehicle rocked. Spock and I nearly lost our footing.

A bit shaken, Vincent finally nodded. Spock and I reached in and took hold of each of his hands. Struggling against the rushing water, we hauled him out.

Suddenly, Vincent twisted. He backhanded Spock and freed himself from our slippery grips. I shouted and he snarled, but, not backed by the car, suddenly lost his balance in the water. There was a flash of fear across his face as the current caught him, sweeping him over the hood. Spock and I gripped the car and we saw a head appear, much farther downstream. Then it went under again as the rapids carried him away.

"Can we get him Spock?" I yelled over the rush of water.

"Afraid not," he reciprocated. "We do not currently have the power, by ourselves, to go after him. I suggest we proceed to dry land before we, too, share his fate."

Picking our way carefully, clinging to the side of the sinking car, we reached the gravel road. For a moment we just stood there, soaked and dripping, and gazed down where Vincent had disappeared. Finally, I sighed.

"At least he doesn't have to worry about the police."

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**Bye, bye, Vincent! Please let me know what you thought of this. Also, once this is over (and it's only got like, one more chapter) I plan to write a one-shot semi-sequel to my story 'Waking Dreams, Waking Nightmares' concerning the mind-meld healing. Just lettin' y'all know that at some point that will come out. Stay tuned!**


	8. His Last Bow

**A/N: Last Chapter! Thank you everyone for following it! I'm rather fond of the story, and was excited to use the 'Crime' genre. Yeah, this is short, but it's the end. Enjoy!**

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I checked on Leslie. Her pulse was fine, but I wanted to fix that gash. We carefully placed her in the backseat and I drove us back to the Jana.

Brice was already running as we pulled up. He nearly passed out when we carried Leslie out of the car. "How is she? What happened?" he demanded nervously. He stayed right on our heels as we entered the hotel and lowered her on a couch in the lobby. I ran up and got my medkit before returning back down.

"She'll be fine," I consoled him. I carefully wiped a little blood away and then sealed the wound. I checked her vitals again, and then gave her a stimulant. "She oughta be coming around soon."

Sure enough, a moment later Leslie was blinking. Brice fell to his knees beside her. "Leslie?" he asked quietly. "How do you feel?"

"A… a slight headache," she said. She looked around suddenly. "Where's Vincent?"

The Gordons and Harry had arrived, and also looked at us curiously, wondering the same thing.

"Mr. Turner was, unfortunately, swept away in the river," Spock said neutrally. "He is gone."

"Amen," Mrs. Gordon huffed. "I know this may sound callous, but it serves that murderer right. He gets what he deserves."

"What he deserved was a trial and a sentence," I corrected, giving her a stern look. She actually wilted some.

Harry approached us. "I must thank you, gentlemen," he said. "For all you've done."

"One does not thank lo-"

"Spock," I elbowed him. "Just accept it."

Spock closed his mouth.

I grinned, then noticed something odd on the carpet. Frowning, I looked at it some more, attracting the others' attention. Realizing what it was, I jerked my head to the window, where a beam of sunlight gleamed through.

"Well, it's about time," Mrs. Gordon crossed her arms. "I think I've had enough rain to last me a lifetime."

"There are breaks in the cloud cover," Spock observed. "I shall attempt communications with the ship." He moved off to collect his communicator.

Harry approached me. "I'm sure you and your companion are eager to return to your ship," he said. "I'm sorry that your samples got ruined."

"It's alright," I told him kindly. "They weren't overly important; just a bit interesting. Although," I contemplated. "That fern may need to be catalogued."

Harry nodded. "I agree." He sighed and looked to where Leslie and Brice were holding each other, watching the sun rise. "We may be short two employees," he murmured. "But I have a feeling it won't remain that way for long. Thank you for clearing Mr. Parton's name."

"He's a nice kid," I said. "He could never kill anybody."

Spock returned. "Doctor, I have contacted the _Enterprise_. They are wondering if we would like to beam up."

I looked at Harry. "Go on," he said. "Believe me when I tell you, we'll get things taken care of here. A quiet benefit of our justice system."

"Thanks, Harry," I said. We bade good-bye to everyone and retreated up to our rooms. I gathered my things, Spock was already packed, and waited for the transporter.

"Energize."

A few seconds later we were in the transporter room. After some shuffling to get a good hold on our equipment, we managed to drop everything off at one of the labs. As we exited, Kirk caught us and walked alongside.

"Did you two have a good time?" he asked, a mischievous look on his face.

"That's debatable," I said honestly. I was about to continue but couldn't.

"I understand." We continued towards the mess hall when Kirk got in front of us and crossed his arms. We stopped.

"So tell me honestly," he said in his stern, captain's voice. Spock and I held our breaths.

"Just how boring was it collecting floral samples?"


End file.
